


The Storm

by scarletjedi



Series: quiobi week 17 [3]
Category: Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, F/F, M/M, QuiObi Week 2017, here be dragons
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-27
Updated: 2017-06-27
Packaged: 2018-11-19 20:34:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11321214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scarletjedi/pseuds/scarletjedi
Summary: When you were the only inn in town, there was no such thing as a slow night. Even when the gales blew, or the snow settled several feet deep, there were always a handful who sought to pass the time at her bar, drinking her wares.Shmi didn't mind. Coin was coin, even out here on the outskirts of the Kingdom.It meant, however, that there was nothing to tip Shmi off about the strangeness of the night to come.





	The Storm

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to hobbitystmarymorstan and punsbulletsandpointythings for their help with this fic!

* * *

When you were the only inn in town, there was no such thing as a slow night. Even when the gales blew, or the snow settled several feet deep, there were always a handful who sought to pass the time at her bar, drinking her wares.

Shmi didn't mind. Coin was coin, even out here on the outskirts of the Kingdom.

It meant, however, that there was nothing to tip Shmi off about the strangeness of the night to come. It was raining, and the ache in her knuckles told her there would be thunder before dawn. The inn was less empty that it could have been—the Lars farm tended to flood, so Cliegg and his young family were home, tending the fields rather than sitting at her tables, and the other young ones, like like the blacksmith’s apprentice and the cobbler’s boy, were home tending their own family’s hearths.

Sebulba was there, however, holding court in the corner by the fire. A hunter by trade, the man’s skill was undeniable, if one measured success in quantity of kill. In difficulty, however, Shmi knew of hunters who would far outpace him, and Sebulba wouldn’t be nearly as successful in woods that were far less populated by game. He was a big fish in a small pond, and he knew it well enough to stay close, and knew it little enough to have an ego that eclipsed everything else.

Plus, he was cruel to her son, Ani, and Shmi would never like anyone who was mean to her little blessing.

But, coin was coin, and Sebulba always had coin to spend, and there would always be those who chose coin over morals.

Sebulba had been spending freely tonight, footing every third round or so, when the two strangers, cloaked tightly against the rain, entered her inn. Shmi didn't notice anything odd at first, her attention still on monitoring the local personality. (If Sebulba grew spiteful in his drink, as was his wont, then Shmi would have to keep her eye on Ani as well). 

How long the strangers stood, waiting patiently for her attention, Shmi was not sure, but she greeted them pleasantly, all the same.

"Greetings, strangers. What’ll it be?”

Ten years, and it still grated that she could not express welcome, could not offer services to strangers. It felt so impolite, but there were dangers, out here on the edge, and it would not do to welcome in something that would mean her and hers ill. She would have no one to blame but herself, then. 

There were two strangers, both men that she could see, their dress plain and their fabrics homespun. Monks, perhaps, on a pilgrimage. They normally slept under the stars, but even the holy desired a dry bed.

The taller of the two men raised both his hands—his gloves were not home spun, and made of rich brown leather, the color of barley beer—and lowered his hood. A man, yes, with hair and beard both graying and worn long. His eyes were a clear and brilliant blue, like the fancy gems Shmi had seen in her youth.

"My companion and I are traveling through,” he said. His voice was deep and richly accented, not like the capital, but close. The North, maybe? "We wish no more than a hot meal, a hot bath, and a dry room for the night.”

Shmi nodded, already reaching for her ring of keys. "You're in luck, good sirs—we have all three. Let me show you to your room, and arrange for your bath. Do you wish to dine in your room, or here in the common space?”

The larger man looked at his companion for a brief moment. "The common room will do well,” he said with a gentle smile, and his companion nodded as well. Shmi found herself smiling back, despite herself. There was something about these two that put her at ease, but she could not put her finger on it. 

"Ani, watch the bar,” she called to her son—he was only 11 summers, but he was tall enough to see the customers, and had a good head for figures. He would be fine, for the moment. 

As long as Sebulba didn't come for a new round, they'd all be fine.

Ani didn't bother to answer, but he stood from where he had been tinkering with…something. Shmi had long since lost track of all of Ani’s projects. He would show her when he was ready, and she would be suitably impressed. Now, however, Ani stood behind the bar, clambering up on the short footstool that had been there since he was five and first allowed to help her clean the surface with damp rags. He was nearly as tall as her now, when he stood on it, and Shmi knew he’d grow out of the need of it far too soon for her liking. Ani looked at the strangers with eyes wide as harvest skies, and the strangers stared back.

"This way, gentlemen,” she said and gestured for them to follow her up the stairs to the rooms. “Normally, with the rain, we’d be full up with folks who don’t feel like getting wet until morning,” she said, opening the door. “But the rains came early, and those who wouldn’t go home never came in the first place.” It wasn't her largest room, but it had a bed large enough to share, even with the taller one’s height, and it had of Ani's more useful contraptions fixed to one of the two windows.

She bustled to the small fireplace, bending to set light to the already built fire. It didn’t take but a moment to catch, and Shmi let the dry heat sooth her face and ease her aches, and she closed her eyes against the memories it brought to life within her. 

Right. Hot bath. 

Standing stiffly, she walked as quickly as she could to the window to move a pewter-grey spout from the wall and pull the thin chain that had been hanging next to it. All at once, the basin at her feet begin to fill with clear rainwater from the catcher on the roof.

Reaching behind her, she grabbed the large kettle off its stand, and filled that as well from the pipe. Turning off the water, she hooked the kettle handle over the rotating stand, and swung it into the fire. Then, she turned.

The unhooded man stood in the middle of the room, smiling at her with obvious wonder.

"That is quite ingenious,” he said. 

"It is the work of my son, Ani.” Shmi checked that everything was in order, and let loose the chain to stop the flow. She waved at the chain, and he stepped forward to inspecting, urging his companion forward to do the same. "He worries, and a little while later, he has turned his worries into a new helper.” She nodded at the kettle. “Emptying the bath is still a trick, and if you can get it out the window, you’re welcome to. Otherwise, leave it be and it will be handled in the morning. If you wish more water, pull the chain, but please, do not flood the room.” The man smiled, and bowed shallowly. Shmi shifted on her feet, and gestured to the kettle. “The water will take a moment. I can…” she trailed off, keeping the option open. 

But the unhooded man shook his head. "We can take it from here,” he said. “Though we thank you for your attentiveness. You seem a bit anxious to return, and we would not want to keep you.” 

“It's not you,” Shmi assured him. She was even telling the truth. “It's just never a good idea to let Ani and Sebulba alone for too long. Sebulba is a bit of a bully, and Ani can be outspoken, particularly in defense of another. It does not help that my son is...smarter than Sebulba.” 

The unhooded man grinned. “He outsmarted him.” 

“Publicly,” Shmi said. “Sebulba has never forgiven Ani for making him look like a fool—even if he is one.” 

"Then, please,” he said, and the strangers both bowed to her. “Go keep the peace. We shall be out shortly for dinner.” 

Shmi nodded, wiping her palms on her apron. "Of course. Rabbit stew, tonight. With potatoes and buttered bread.”

"Sounds delightful,” the uhhooded man said, and meant it. Shmi left the room with a half-courtesy at the door. It was only once she had left the room that she realized that the second stranger had never spoken, nor removed his hood, and she felt the first frisson of unease settle into her.

* * *

Ani was frowning at the basin behind the bar as he rinsed out glasses, his gloves laid carefully on the table next to him. They were rough-spun wool—too delicate to be submerged for long, not and have them last until he grew out of them. Luckily, he had his back to the room, so no one could see his bare hands. 

Shmi watched him for a moment, the smooth and easy way he worked, and saw all the ways her little boy was growing up. That frown belonged on the face of an older man, but his cheeks still had the roundness of a boy. His limbs were beginning to look stretched, and his pants were a bit too short where they hung over his boots, but his sleeve was still twisted and frayed from where he would worry with with his teeth when anxious. He was not yet a man, no, but also no longer looked the gap-toothed babe. 

Pushing aside her melancholy as she went to him, Shmi brushed the hair from his face. "Why do you frown so, Ani? What worries you?”

Ani shrugged, knocking her hand gently aside in the process. Shmi simply resettled her hand on his arm. "Nothing," he said.

"Ani… "

"It's Sebulba," Ani said, going for snappish but hitting mainly hurt. "It's always Sebulba.” He sniffed. "I ignored him, like you said, but the filth he’s been saying...I got so mad I broke some mugs, and we can't afford that!

They could, actually, but not easily—not if the rain continued anyway.

"Shush,” Shmi soothed, hugging Ani from the side. "Never you mind that. As long as we have each other, we are all right, yeah? "

"Yeah," Ani admitted at last, when a little grin already bubbling up. He hugged his mother back, squeezing her with a strength belied by his age and size. He was such a happy child, naturally, and she knew she was spoiled for it.

"I just—ugh!” Ani grabbed a rag to dry his hands and grabbed his gloved to pull them on one by one. “He makes me so mad! He runs around like he owns the place, but he doesn't!"

"Shush,” Shmi said, petting his hair. “I know Ani."

"He throws his weight around like he’s got the backing of the Hutts personally, but he doesn't!” He pulled his second glove on with a jerk and spun to face his mother. “I know he doesn't!"

Shmi took a deep breath and gripped her son gently by his shoulders. “I know you know, Ani,” she said. "But the rest of them don't know it, and sometimes,” she paused, tilting her head too keep it in his line of sight as he looked down to the floor. “Sometimes it's smarter to let others believe a lie like that than to change the minds for them." 

Ani sniffed. “Yeah,” he said. “Maybe.” He pulled at his sleeve. “He’s just lucky he wasn’t talking about you. Then I would have let him have it.” 

Smiling sadly, Shmi kissed the crown of Ani's head. No, her little baby boy was a babe no longer, and soon would not even be a child, but a child’s temper in a man’s body could be a terrifying thing. Still, there was no need to rush things, she thought as she let him sink back to the floor and his latest project. 

Sebulba’s table had enough ale for the moment, and his sycophants were falling over themselves, too wrapped up in their own petty machinations to pay attention to anything other than themselves. They would keep for the moment. The strangers were still up in their room, as well. 

Luckily, they were not the only guests, so Shmi let them be. Her favorite patron, the Widow Shepherd, was smoking by a cracked window, and the air was thick and sweet around her.

The Widow Shepherd, “Egrid, Shmi, please! How many times?” rolled her eyes when Shmi grew near. “I swear, that pompous ass gets worse every day,” she grumbled, sending a dark look Sebulba’s way. Shmi bit her lip to keep from smiling, though Egrid had no such reservations. She grinned around her pipe and nodded her head towards the stairs. 

“That’s a bit of news, now, isn’t it? I wonder who they are,” Egrid said, and Shmi sighed, shaking her head. 

“It’s not for me to speculate,” Shmi said. Egrid pulled her pipe from her mouth and dropped her hand to the table. 

“Like hell it isn’t,” she said, flatly. “And if you don’t have theories, I’ll eat my hat.” 

“You don’t wear a hat, Egrid,” Shmi reminded her. “It’s why Irma gives you such dirty looks in the marketplace.” 

Egrid bit the tip of her tongue, the corners of her mouth curling up. “I’ll _buy_ a hat and eat if in front of her, then.” She sucked on her pipe, and Shmi watched the smoke curl out of her nose. “Well if you won’t share, it’ll be just me, and it’s never as much fun with only one of us.” 

Shmi let out a startled laugh, and Egrid sat back, satisfied. Egrid was the best friend she had, mostly because the widow often said what Shmi was thinking, and of all the women in this village, Egrid had never looked down upon Shmi for her lack of husband, had never pried into her personal life to find answers that Shmi didn’t want to give. 

Egrid still wanted to _know_ , mind you, but she wasn’t going to push. It made Shmi think that, one day, she might actually tell her. 

It helped that Egrid wasn’t actually that much older than Shmi. Her husband, the Master Shephard, had owned most of the property south of the village and when his first wife had passed without children, he had married Egrid, some thirty years his junior. He had passed some three years past himself, which meant that now Egrid owned most of the land south of the village, and her former husband’s spot on the village council. 

“Mostly it means that, when I call someone on their nonsense, nobody thinks they can censure me,” she had said back in the months after her husband had passed, when some of the more...conservative women in the village, like Irma and others who had gained their authority by marrying men on the village council, began walking around with pinched looks on their faces. 

What it had come to mean, however, was that nobody said anything when Egrid spent her evenings in Shmi’s inn, and those who had business dealings with her treated her as an equal. Egrid did not care one whit about anybody else, and said so—often loudly when someone foolishly insisted otherwise. 

She was, however, an inveterate gossip, and continued to try and get Shmi to join her. To be quite honest, it happened more than Shmi wanted to admit. 

Still, she had nothing to say about their new guests (other than their odd eyes, and perfect manners, and the fine clothes that she could just about see under the worn homespun). Egrid sighed theatrically. 

“Alright, then,” she said, and narrowed her eyes at Shmi. “Did I tell you about what I overheard the other day about Watto, the pox-ridden swine?” Watto was the village slop-man; it was through him that all their refuse passed. It was an essential job, and Shmi had seen evidence of a kind heart deep down, but he was by and large a rather unpleasant man, crass and rude. He was also constantly trying to swindle Egrid out of coin; there was no love lost, there. Egrid’s lip curled, and Shmi smiled, and shook her head, settling in to listen. 

It was not yet a full half an hour later when Shmi looked up to see the taller of the two new guests enter the room. ( _A name,_ she thought. She would need to ask for a name). With a quick promise to return to Egrid when she could (“with gossip!”), Shmi went to meet him.

"Pick any table,” she said, gesturing to the tables that sat empty. "I pride myself on the whole area being warm and dry, but it is still warmest by the fire. "

The stranger smiled. "Thank you," he said with a gentle bow, and allowed Shmi to lead him to a small table near the fire. It was closer to Sebulba than she would have preferred anyone sit, but it was far enough away to allow them some privacy if they wished. “You have been most kind, Mistress...” 

Shmi blinked at him. “Oh,” she said, and huffed a small laugh. She was not in the habit of giving her name first, but he had shed his cloak and bathed in her inn, and was about to eat her food. She was safe enough, now. “My name is Shmi. No need for fancy titles, please.” 

He bowed again. “Then I am, Qui-Gon Jinn. Well met, Shmi.” 

There was something about this stranger, this Qui-Gon Jinn, that was familiar to Shmi—not him, himself, Shmi was sure she would remember if she had ever met a _Qui-Gon Jinn_ , but...

She shook her head and smiled wide. “You’ll want your supper now, yes?” 

He nodded, placing a hand on the back of a chair, though he seemed reluctant to sit in her presence. She could feel herself flush a bit; it had been a long time since she had been on the receiving end of more gentlemanly manners. "May I have food for my companion as well?” he asked. “He was delayed by his washing, but wished for me to head on. He will be joining me—Ah,” Qui-Gon said. “Here he comes now.” 

Shmi turned, and sure enough, there was the other stranger, looking around the room for his companion. 

Without his cloak, some things about the other man were made clear—his hair and beard were a brilliant coppery red, shining dimly in the candlelight and drawing the attention of much of the room. While his clothes were the same muted creams and browns of Qui-Gon, his boots were also red—warm red leather that matched his fine gloves. Catching sight of them, he smiled, and Shmi was thoroughly starstruck—there was no way this man was anything other than nobility. It was no wonder that he had kept himself quiet and covered. There were far too many who would take advantage. 

Then, he stepped closer and Shmi noticed his eyes, gray like midsummer storms, and filled with such a deep, deep sadness. “I’ll get your supper,” she said, and, uneasy, fled to the bar.

"Mom?" Ani asked, concerned, and Shmi shook her head.

"I'm all right, Ani. Run along now and fix dinner for our guests, will you?”

After a moment, Ani nodded and ran off, leaving Shmi at the bar to think.

Shmi had lived here, in the village of Espa, since Ani was a baby. It was luck that the old tavern keeper had needed help right when she walked into town, and more luck still that the old tavern keeper had died childless, and a living had landed in her lap. It had been more than she could hope for.

And then, these two…

Shmi had been reminded more of her past since their arrival than she had been in her ten years here. It could be a coincidence, but Shmi couldn’t have lived through what she had and still believe in coincidence. It wasn’t safe to continually drop her guard around them, no matter how much she wished to.

Ani came from the back, bowls and bread balanced on a tray, and Shmi carefully pulled two tankards of ale and followed her son to the table.

"Thank you, madam,” the shorter one said, smiling at Shmi, and Shmi bobbed her head in acceptance, placing the tankards on the table. He breathed deeply. "It smells wonderful.”

"It's the best around,” Ani said proudly, and Shmi smiled at his exuberance.

“The others seem to like it, at least,” she said. The man’s smile grew wide, and Shmi was surprised to see the shadows of dimples in the sides of his beard. He looked at Ani, and cocked his head. 

“And what is your name, young master?”

Capital accent. Capital matters. Shmi shifted on her feet, refusing to react to Qui-Gon watching her.

"Ani,” her son said. "Anakin, sir.”

“Anakin,” the man said, as if feeling the word in his mouth. "I am Obi-Wan Kenobi.” He turned to Shmi, including her as well. Kenobi wasn't any clan house she knew, but that didn't mean something hadn’t changed in ten years. There were hundreds of lower-tier nobles—it was completely believable that one had gained wealth and power in that time.

No. It would be best that the strangers moved on come morning—the sooner, the better.

And yet, the evening wore on. The strangers ate their meal, lingering over their ale. Shmi didn't fully relax, however, until she realize that they only really had eyes for each other. 

Shmi watched as they conversed quietly—Obi-Wan did have a truly remarkable smile, and Qui-Gon’s eyes grew incredibly soft and tender whenever Obi-Wan laughed. They were sweet, and when Qui-Gon reached for Obi-Wan’s hand, kissing the back of his fingers, well—Shmi suspected she knew why someone like Obi-Wan would leave the capital. Anything could be excused behind closed doors, but if it was brought to light...

(It was yet another reason to prefer to live in the outskirts. Here, nobody save the gossip mongers cared if Shmi was with a man or a woman or all by herself. There were more important things to worry about than where another found comfort at night). 

Ani was once again tinkering at her feet, the room was quiet against the rains, and even Sebulba’s crew was carousing less riotously. It gave her a moment to breathe, and she bent down to give her son a squeeze and a kiss. 

“Mom!”

The storm turned suddenly, the wind kicking up from nowhere to howl through the cracks in the eves and rattling the boards, and Shmi looked up in concern, slowly straightening from her crouch. The house had lasted through summer gales before, but she had never seen a storm like this. If it kept up, nobody would be sleeping at home tonight. 

Motion caught her eye, and she looked to see Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan standing, backs to each other, both holding a strange cylinder, like a hilt without a blade, and watching the door.

Something heavy thudded in her chest.

The door burst open.

Shmi’s hand went to the club she kept behind the bar, but when she saw—

When _it_ entered—

The only sound was the wind against the walls, and the gentle tread of bare feet, clicking with claws as the demon crossed the threshold—patterned, black-stained red skin, a crown of horns glinted in the light, and eyes that shone sickly yellow from a cloud of darkness that reached with writing tendrils. Then, it spoke in a whisper like nails on slate.

_“Where is the boy?”_

Shmi found her voice at last. “There's no boy here,” she said. 

The thing cocked its head.

_“… Lies…”_

Shmi swallowed, and said again, with more force. “You'll find no boy here.”

It smirked, showing sharp teeth. _“Lies!”_ It hissed, and the tendrils shot forward, wrapping her in solid smoke, and she screamed. Dimly, she was aware of Ani's call for her, hidden as it was in the clamor of Sebulba and his followers fleeing into the night and her own voice.

Then, a sound that she never heard, excepted her dreams—the snap-fwoosh of a fireblade

Suddenly, Shmi could move again, and dropped to the ground.

Curled into a little ball, Ani rocked where he sat, little hands clawed over his ears. “Ani,” she whispered, feeling her heart constrict. She had to get him out of here. They had no time, but her baby was in _pain_. She reached out, pulling her to him resting his head to her chest and rocking. “Oh, Ani...”

The sounds—Shmi squeezed her eyes shut—the terrible sounds—

Thunder crashed.

Lightning lit the sky.

The demon landed before them, and Ani was ripped from her arms, screaming.

“Ani!” she cried, rising after them reaching for her son—

And saw the Dragons. 

Shiny copper scales and the deep green of late summer, swirling together through the air, light phantasms in a magician’s show, and on the ground, eyes blazing, stood Qui-Gon Jinn and Obi-Wan Kenobi. 

Dragons.

Not noblemen—they were dragons.

( _As if you hadn’t guessed_ ). 

There hadn’t been a living Dragons on record for centuries—

( _You never believed that. You even have_ proof).

The demon bared its teeth. _“The boy belongs to me,”_ it hissed, ignoring the way Ani struggled in its arms. _“My master calls for him.”_

“Then your master will be disappointed,” Obi-Wan Kenobi quipped, and started forward, blade held high to strike. Above his head, the copper dragon rushed forward, powerful jaws open and teeth gleaming.

The demon spun away, blocking flame and dragon’s teeth both with the undulating smoke, leaping over the tables towards the windows on the second floor, and Ani was sucked into the darkness that surrounded it. 

“Ani!” Shmi cried, scrambling over the bar. She had no weapon that would work against a demon, but it had her _Ani,_ her miracle, the baby that every healer had said she could never bear, her gift from a handsome stranger whose eyes had shone like starlight in the dark of the gardens at night, who had whispered to her all the sweet things she had wanted to hear, whose fingers like claws had marked her in ways that had never faded. 

She was caught around her middle, and she struggled, flailing. “Ani!” 

“Easy,” Qui-Gon said into her ear, and she calmed as if doused with cold water. “Obi-Wan will get him back. No harm will come to your son.” 

Shmi turned wild eyes on him. “Please! Bring him back to me!” 

Qui-Gon hesitated. “He is a special boy.” 

Tears filled Shmi’s eyes, blurring her vision. “Please,” she said. 

Qui-Gon nodded. “We will bring him back, safely.” 

Then Qui-Gon launched himself towards the balcony, his jade Dragon spreading its wings and carrying him upwards. There, Obi-Wan and his dragon had flanked the demon, cutting him off from his escape, but making no quarter otherwise. 

Qui-Gon struck, his dragon’s power in its size and improbable speed, and the demon bowed under the strength of the attack. Shmi could see no more clearly, so fast did they move, until Shmi saw it—

Ani’s hand, reaching out from the darkness. 

“Ani,” she said, barely more than a whisper, but it was enough to draw the Demon’s attention, and it fired a bolt of shadow at her, catching her in the middle of her chest. 

Time slowed. 

Pain radiated outwards, filling her, even as she fell to the floor. It seemed to take minutes to fall, and the world around her came in flashes. 

Obi-Wan slicing through the demon’s middle, forcing it back

Qui-Gon knocked to the ground. 

Ani’s face emerging from the darkness to meet her eyes. 

Ani screamed—

Ani turned on the demon, eyes blazing with white light like storm lightning, and was at him with his claws. Gloves falling away in blood-soaked tatters, Ani tore into the demon’s flesh. The demon howled, but it was too late. 

The demon fell to smoke, dissipating in the lantern light as if it had never been, leaving Ani panting on his knees, eyes burning and clawed fingers curled in mid-air. 

Strong hands, warm and sure, were suddenly under Shmi’s shoulders, and Shmi’s head rolled to the side to see Egird, pale but with her pipe still between her teeth, gently lift Shmi to rest on her knees. 

“Breathe,” Egrid grit out. “Damnit, Shmi, breathe!” 

And Shmi realized the strange hitching was her desperately trying to draw breath and failing. Her eyes grew wide and she grasped at Egrid’s knee, and Egrid heaved her upright and landed one good solid smack on Shmi’s back. 

Shmi gasped in desperately welcome air, and let herself rest against the other woman, breathing and watching her son shake to pieces on the walkway.

* * *

“His father was a Dragon,” Shmi said, much later, sitting by the fire Obi-Wan had rebuilt, draped in the blanket Qui-Gon had placed there and gripping the Ale Egrid had drawn for her. Ani sat pressed against her side, his head on her shoulder. He hadn’t spoken since the demon had vanished, only looking down at his bare hands—claws. Her son had claws, as surely Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan had hidden behind their fine gloves. As Ani’s father had—thick and sharp and dark as obsidian, strong as diamond, and the least human looking part of him. The least human looking part of any dragon. 

Nobody spoke, waiting for Shmi to tell her tale. “When I was a girl, I lived in the Capitol.” She shook her head. “I lived in the _palace_ , and I loved to visit the gardens at night. That was where we met, where he courted me.” She laughed without mirth. “It took only three nights, but I did not care. He was...mesmerizing, and I was heartbroken when he didn’t appear on the fourth night. Or the fifth. Or a month later, when I learned that I was with child.” 

Shmi sipped her ale. “I didn’t believe it at first; the healers had told me years before that I could not bear children. It was the main reason why I wasn’t married off like my sisters, but I didn’t mind. There was no man I wanted to be with, until...well. And he was no ordinary man.” 

“Did he give you a name?” Qui-Gon asked, gently. Shmi shook her head. 

“No, and I never thought to ask.” She smiled sadly. “I’m sure that was deliberate. Still,” she squeezed Ani to her side. “ I cannot regret it—not since he had given me my Ani.” Ani pressed closer, pressing his cheek into her shoulder. “I left when Ani was barely two weeks old. It was hard, but things were changing in the Capital, and I had just a babe that I was not supposed to have, who had claws on his fingers and eyes that shone. What else was I supposed to do?” 

“You protected yourself and him,” Obi-Wan said, gently. “You did the right thing.” 

“Especially since it led you here,” Egrid said, reaching out and covering Shmi’s hand with her own. Shmi turned her hand to tangle her fingers with Egrid. 

“And now, it seems that things are changing again,” Qui-Gon said. “I do not know who this demon’s master is, but if he found Ani here once, he’ll find him here again.” 

Shmi squeezed her eyes closed against the tears that sprang forth. “We were supposed to be safe!” 

“And you were,” Obi-Wan said. “And you are, for a little while yet. Anakin fought bravely and well. It will take time for whoever this was to regroup. But we must still decide what course of action to take. I’m afraid...” he hesitated, looking at Qui-Gon. 

“We’re afraid that Anakin can not stay here,” Qui-Gon said gently. “He’s a target, and needs to be trained.” 

Shmi clenched her teeth against a sob, and buried her face in Ani’s hair. It smelled like smoke. 

“I don’t want to leave,” Ani said, his voice quiet and hoarse. “What if they come back for me and find Mom, but I’m not here to protect her.” 

Shmi pressed her mouth to Ani’s head. She was not ready. He was still just a boy!

“You know,” Egrid said, slowly. “I’ve a cottage on the southern edge of the property. No one’s lived there for years, but I’ve been meaning to hire some new hands, fix the place up. It’s isolated, self-sustaining, but someone, like, say, Ani here, would need to bring certain supplies out, say, once a week? Perhaps more.” 

Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan shared a look. “It could work,” Obi-Wan said quietly, and when Shmi looked up, she saw such a look of hope and longing on Qui-Gon’s face, that she was sure there was more to the conversation that just where to train her son. Qui-Gon turned to Ani. “What do you think?” 

“I can still live with Mom?” he asked, and sniffed, peeking out to see them. 

“For the most part. There will be times when you may need to stay with us, but you can always visit.” 

Ani nodded, clearly thinking. Then, he narrowed his eyes. “Will you teach me how to use a firesword?” 

Obi-Wan his a smile with his hand, and Qui-Gon nodded gravely. “How to build and use a firesword.” 

“Deal,” Ani said, sticking out his hand. Qui-Gon gripped him by the wrist, and Shmi watched as her son took his first steps away from her. Then, she felt Egrid’s calloused hand, strong and warm, take her own, and thought maybe it was time for them both to move on. On their own terms.


End file.
